


Erik, I moustache you a question.

by anotherdiana



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, moustache
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-09
Updated: 2015-03-24
Packaged: 2018-01-18 19:07:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1439491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anotherdiana/pseuds/anotherdiana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I wrote a prompt about Raoul growing a moustache, and Erik hating it. So I thought I'd have a go filling it myself. So yeah, Raoul's a lovable idiot, and Erik wreaks havoc.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Raoul had spent the Christmas and New Year period with his brother on the coast, exchanging presents before the sun was up, and braving the ice-cold sea for a few minutes before running back to the house, laughing, just as they did when they were children.

But the best present was returning to Paris and the Opera Populaire. He had missed it more than he could have thought possible. The people, the atmosphere, the halls always full of music and laughter, and more than anything, the man he had come to love.

He smiled to himself, a spring in his step as he walked through the double doors at the front of the Opera House. He couldn’t wait to see his lover’s face once he saw his little surprise.

“Gosh, Raoul! You look so handsome!”

“Vicomte, it suits you very much!”

Raoul swelled with happiness at the compliments he received as he made his way through the Opera House, every girl and woman had some flattery to give him, but there was only one person he _really_ wanted to hear it from. He felt fit to burst with anticipation as he approached Box 5. They had been apart for nearly two weeks, and he was looking forward to being welcomed home.

“ _What is that on your face?”_

It wasn’t _quite_ the reaction Raoul had been hoping for.

“Do you like it?” He asked.

If Erik had been frowning before, his expression now was pure murder.

“Why are you sporting that ridiculous moustache? Go and shave it off at once.”

Raoul scowled. He should have known that Erik would be difficult. Personally, he thought the moustache suited him well. It was striking and made him look dashing. And he had received nothing but compliments from everyone else. It made him look older, too, and it was very fashionable to wear a moustache currently.

“No, I won’t. I like it. It makes me look handsome.”

“You were handsome before.”

The (surely unintentional) compliment almost made Raoul smile, but he stood firm, crossing his arms over his chest and narrowing his eyes.

“It makes me look older.”

“Why would I want you to look older?” Erik was still scowling, but now seemed genuinely bemused.

Raoul stuck his nose in the air.

“Not everything is about what _you_ want, Erik.” And with that, he turned on his heel and flounced away as dramatically as he could, although he knew it made him look like Carlotta during one of her temper tantrums.

He’d be damned if he would let Erik decide whether or not he could wear facial hair. He had already been forbidden from wearing shoes with lifts, comical cufflinks, and the colour yellow. He would not let Erik deny him this as well.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning, Raoul woke in a very bad mood. He dressed in a hurry, treating his clothes rather roughly, and stomped into the breakfast room.

“Why so grumpy, little brother?” Philippe inquired, teasingly, not looking up from the toast he was spreading marmalade on. “Did your big reunion not go quite as planned?”

“What makes you think that?” Raoul snapped.

“I had told the servants not to expect you back last night, and yet in you stormed, at barely four in the afternoon! And throwing an enormous temper tantrum, I must add. I could hear you from upstairs.”

“I most certainly wasn’t throwing a tantrum.” Raoul pouted, folding his arms and slumping in his seat childishly.

“No, I should imagine not. It would be very unbefitting of a Vicomte. You would not act in such a spoiled manner.”

Raoul blushed at Philippe’s careful chastisement, and ducked his head.

“I’m sorry, brother. It won’t happen again.”

“Good!” Philippe smiled and pushed the toast rack towards him. “Now have some breakfast before you go and see Erik’s present.”

Raoul sat up straight, a grin spreading across his face, black mood gone in an instant.

“He’s sent me a present?! Where? What is it?”

Here was the apology he had been waiting for, and that he had not dared expect. So Erik _did_ really like his moustache, or was at the very least indifferent to it, and had sent Raoul a gift to win back his good favour. How wonderful!

Philippe laughed at his excitement.

“Eat some breakfast, I’ll have Justine bring it in.” He called to the girl standing respectfully by the wall, and asked her to fetch the gift.

Raoul buttered some toast, feeling bright and cheerful, and gasped in delight when Justine carried in an enormous bouquet of roses, with a wrapped present tucked into the stems.

One she had set the bouquet on the table, Raoul grabbed the present, and tore the paper off, brimming with anticipation.

It was a flat, rectangular box. The lid was beautifully carved into a garden scene, complete with peacock, and the wood was polished to a high shine. Raoul quickly opened the latch to see what was inside.

It was a set of gleaming, silver razor blades.

He closed the lid, fastened the latch, and stood up. Then he very carefully took aim, and calmly threw the box and its contents across the room, and straight out the open window. Then he sat down and continued his meal, a murderous expression on his face.

Erik would suffer for this.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Raoul breezed into the Opera House just after noon, humming gaily, a pleasant smile on his face. He removed his hat, nodding cheerily at the people he passed in the corridors, and tapped on Christine’s dressing room door.

After a few moments, she opened the door, and upon seeing him, immediately threw her arms around his neck.

“Oh, Raoul! I’ve missed you! You look very fetching with that moustache, how was your trip, did you have a nice Christmas?”

Raoul laughed brightly at the barrage of questions.

“I had a wonderful Christmas, thank you! And you are looking beautiful, as ever.”

Christine beamed and ducked her head modestly at his compliment.

“I’m taking you to lunch, Christine, I want to hear about everything I’ve missed. I’ve talked to the managers, and M. Reyer, they don’t need you for the afternoon.”

“Raoul, I can’t! I have a lesson in half an hour, you know that! You know Erik will be frightfully angry if I miss it.”

Raoul widened his eyes as much as he could, affecting his most innocent and hurt look. He stuck out his bottom lip, just to be sure.

“Erik can’t _possibly_ be angry. He’s had you all to himself for two weeks, and I haven’t seen you at all! I’ve missed you dreadfully, Christine, and we simply _must_ spend a _little_ time together. Come, he can spare you for one afternoon. I assure you, I will make him see reason.”

“Well, if you are sure he won’t be angry…” Christine replied, hesitantly.

“I am positive.” Raoul grinned, and offered his arm.

Raoul managed to keep Christine out until well after dark. They had eaten lunch at an expensive, but small restaurant, and taken a carriage ride through the city. They had spent an hour or so walking through snow-covered gardens, and worn themselves out with a childish snowball fight. They had warmed themselves in a tiny café, with foaming mugs of cocoa. By the time he returned her, giggling happily, to the opera house, it was supper time, and she hurried off to join the other girls for dinner.

Raoul let himself into Christine’s dressing room, and found Erik sitting on the stool by the vanity, arms folded, glaring at the door.

“Have you been sitting there all afternoon?!”

“Where. Have. You. _Been_?” Erik bit out through clenched teeth.

“Oh, around the city, here and there.” Raoul responded airily.

“And _where_ is my student?”

“Supper, I believe.”

Erik stood suddenly, unfolding with a graceful ease, as if he hadn’t been sat stock still for hours.

He took a menacing step forward, and only months of practise and a strong will kept Raoul from stepping back to maintain distance.

“Why do you delight in causing me inconvenience?”

Raoul raised his chin higher, meeting the other man’s glare.

“Well, I’m sorry I’m such an _inconvenience_ to you.”

Erik’s expression softened marginally. He was still utterly terrifying.

“Raoul, darling. You do these things simply to irk me. There was no need for you to take Christine away from her lessons. I can tell you are angry at me, although I’m sure I’ve done nothing to deserve it. But removing Christine from her lessons punishes her just as much as it punishes me. Now, tell me why you are sulking, so that I can fix it.”

He had advanced steadily closer during this speech, like a predator closing in on its prey, and now he was close enough to lower his head and nose at Raoul’s neck, dropping little kisses onto his collarbone.

Raoul hummed softly, contentedly, his eyes sliding closed.

“I’ve missed you.” He whispered, his hands clutching at the front of Erik’s shirt.

Erik peppered kisses up his throat, along his jaw, the corner of his mouth.

“Tell me why you’re angry.” He whispered back.

“Why did you send me those razors?” Raoul asked.

Erik bit his earlobe gently, making Raoul shiver and arch towards him.

“Why didn’t you use them?” Erik muttered.

Raoul’s eyes snapped open, and he shoved Erik away from him.

Fury blazed in Erik’s eyes, white-hot and petrifying. It took every ounce of self-control Raoul had not to simply turn tail and run.

Erik began a threatening step forward, but Raoul’s hands shot up between them in a defensive gesture, and he stepped back again. His expression became closed, and he breathed deeply through his nose, obviously trying to calm himself down.

Raoul cautiously lowered his hands.

“I didn’t want to shave. I like my moustache. I want to keep it.”

“ _I_ don’t like it.”

“It’s not about what _you_ want, Erik!”

“You’re _my_ boyfriend!”

“It’s _my_ face!” Raoul was shouting now. “It’s my face, it’s my moustache, it’s _my_ choice!”

“It isn’t only _your_ choice!” Erik was shouting back, which was a good sign. When he was truly angry, he went silent. “I’m the one that has to kiss you!”

“You don’t _have_ to do anything!”

Erik’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly, hurt, fear flashing briefly across his face.

Raoul ran a hand through his hair, messing his curls up, looking slightly lost.

“That’s not what I… Erik, I love you. I do, I love you. I don’t want to fight. I want to come home with you. I want to wake up next to you tomorrow. I don’t like it when we fight. I want us to be right again. I want to come home with you and love you, and fall asleep in your arms.”

Erik leant in, his breath ghosting across his young lover’s face, fingertips dragging gently over his hips.

“Then _shave_.”

He pulled away abruptly and stormed from the room, leaving Raoul standing alone, furious.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

Raoul was humming again the next morning, one of the lively tunes from the latest opera that the _Populaire_ was running. It wasn’t a _good_ opera, but it was the kind of catchy, mindless rubbish that the public lapped up. Raoul had, courtesy of Erik, become more discerning in his taste for operas, and personally found it tedious and poorly written. But he knew that Erik would hate to hear him humming it, so he made sure to be as loud as he could.

He had become more discerning about a lot of things since Erik had started courting him. Fashion, for one thing. As a wealthy young man, he had understandably always followed the latest trends. Erik disapproved of many of these, and through him, Raoul had learned to be more independent in his fashion choices. He stopped following the crowd, and wore what looked good, rather than what was popular. Usually. Today was different.

Erik had, rather sternly, told him that yellow was an unflattering colour on him. He hadn’t used _quite_ those words, but, expletives removed, that was the gist of it. And after much pestering, Philippe had eventually admitted to Raoul that he agreed with Erik. Bright colours were very fashionable right now, and yellow was the brightest colour there was. But Erik hated it, so Raoul didn’t wear it. Usually.

Today, Raoul was wearing a light grey three-piece suit, with a painfully yellow shirt and pocket handkerchief. He was also wearing a rather _en vogue_ pair of heeled shoes, which gave him a little more than two inches of height. The garish yellow clashed horribly with his golden-blond hair. He looked ridiculous.

He tapped on Christine’s door, still humming cheerily to himself.

“Come in!” Christine trilled.

He opened the door to find Christine and little Meg Giry sat together on Christine’s chaise longue, giggling happily. They stopped giggling immediately when he entered.

“Good Morning, Christine, Miss Giry!”

They stared at him in amazement. Meg opened her mouth to speak, but quickly thought better of it.

Raoul grinned.

“Well, do you like my new shirt?”

“It’s… lovely.” Meg attempted.

“Raoul, it’s hideous. What were you thinking?!” Christine exclaimed.

At least she was honest, if nothing else.

“I know, it’s terrible, isn’t it! Perfectly repulsive.” Raoul bounced on the balls of his feet, happy with the reaction. Both girls were looking at him as if he’d gone mad.

“It’s the ugliest shirt I’ve ever seen. But I suppose it doesn’t matter what you wear, since you and Erik are no longer on speaking terms.” Meg made a show of inspecting her nails, glancing up at Raoul from beneath lowered eyelids to see his reaction.

Raoul froze, abruptly.

“Not on speaking terms!? Who told… I mean, well… _since when_?! This is the first I’ve heard of this! He was speaking to me yesterday. Admittedly, he wasn’t speaking _nicely_ to me, but he was speaking all the same.”

Meg and Christine watched him with rapt expressions of joy on their faces. This would probably provide them with enough gossip for a fortnight. Sometimes, Raoul really hated girls.

“Oh, Vicomte, I only assumed! You see, Erik gave Maman a letter for you. And you’re long past the point of him writing formal letters instead of just talking to you!” Meg gave a tinkling little laugh. “I just thought that perhaps you’d had an argument. I was wrong, of course.”

Raoul suddenly had some very uncharitable thoughts about sweet, little Meg Giry.

She held out the letter, smiling innocently.

He grabbed it out of her hand, scowling, just as a whistle sounded in the hallway, calling the girls to rehearsal.

He ripped through the seal, unfolding the paper. It contained just two words.

_Box Five._

Raoul bristled.

When he arrived, he was met with a seemingly empty box. Experience told him that he wasn’t alone. He stepped into the box, drawing the curtain across the doorway behind him.

“Are you determined to make a mockery of yourself?”

Raoul span around to face the man leaning on the back wall.

“I don’t suppose it’s any of your business how I dress.”

Erik pushed himself away from the wall, crossing the few steps to meet Raoul in the centre of the box.

“You’re still my boyfriend, I hope. Everything you do is my business.”

He used one finger to tilt Raoul’s chin up.

“You still haven’t shaved, I see.”

“No. And I don’t intend to.”

Erik hummed thoughtfully, before reaching out and pulling Raoul into a hug.

“Very well. Keep the moustache. But lose the shoes.”

“I like the shoes. I like being tall.” Raoul whined.

“No. You don’t… fit.”

“ _What_?” Raoul asked, bemused.

Erik sighed.

“Normally I can rest my chin on the top of your head. When you wear shoes with lifts, you’re too tall. It’s not right. You don’t _fit_.”

“Okay. I won’t wear the shoes.”

“Or the shirt?” Erik pushed.

“Or the shirt.” Raoul agreed.

“Good.” Erik held him a little tighter.

Raoul hid his smile in Erik’s shoulder.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

 

Eventually, Raoul pulled back from the hug, and leaned up for a kiss. It had been so long, he was aching to feel Erik’s lips on his.

Erik, unfortunately, misunderstood his meaning slightly, and leant forward to press his lips gently against his lover’s forehead.

Raoul smirked and stood on his toes, trying again.

He was denied his goal once more, as Erik ducked his head to nuzzle at his neck.

Raoul tipped his head back, granting easier access as the older man started sucking bruises into his throat. This was certainly a satisfactory alternative.

In minutes, they were both breathless and panting, and with a short huff of a laugh, Erik seized his hand and pulled him swiftly into a hidden passage, hurriedly ushering him deeper into the Opera House.

Several times, Raoul tried to halt their progress, wanting to distract Erik with kisses, but Erik was having none of it. He avoided Raoul’s kisses purposefully, and continued to hurry them towards his home under the Opera.

Raoul couldn’t help but grin at his lover’s single-minded determination. It _had_ been weeks, after all.

Finally, they reached Erik’s little house, stumbling towards the swan bed, pawing at each other’s clothes. They divested each other of their jackets and waistcoats, pulling free their cravats, toeing off shoes.

Erik bit vicious kisses into Raoul’s neck, shoulders, jawline. Everywhere but his mouth. Raoul was getting impatient. He arched up, pressing towards the other man, desperate for a real, _proper_ kiss.

He was thwarted again, as Erik seized him around the waist, and lifted him bodily from the ground, throwing him onto the bed, following quickly, pinning him down with his weight.

Raoul groaned, writhing under the solid weight of the larger man, tugging at his lover’s shirt.

“Erik!” He panted.

His fingers became clumsy as Erik pushed a strong thigh between his legs, and Raoul rocked his hips up, desperate for friction, for relief.

“ _Please._ ”

Erik’s nimble hands made short work of the buttons on Raoul’s hideous yellow shirt, and Raoul lifted himself up slightly to allow Erik to remove it completely.

Erik sat up, the shirt in his hands, and in a thrilling display of strength, ripped the shirt clean in two.

Raoul tried to be annoyed, rather than aroused.

“Why did you even bother unbuttoning it, if you were just going to-”

Erik silenced him with a hand over his mouth, and bent to shower kisses on Raoul’s exposed chest.

Trusting Raoul not to start complaining again, he removed his hand from his young lover’s mouth, and instead gripped his waist with both hands as he sucked eagerly on a nipple.

Raoul whined, breathing growing harsher, and he tried to tug Erik back up, wanting his kiss at last.

Instead, Erik sank lower, and Raoul found he could not complain.

When, at last, they stilled, breathless, sated, and exhausted, Raoul tried one final time to capture Erik’s lips.

Erik forcefully pushed Raoul’s head to rest on his shoulder, propping his chin on the top of Raoul’s head. He tightened his arms around his lover, making it all but impossible for him to move.

Raoul scowled into Erik’s neck, and jabbed a sharp finger into the other man’s ribs as punishment. Erik just chuckled, and held Raoul still until they both fell asleep.

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one night. I'm on fire! I know this is a tiny chapter but still. And hey, I finally finished a multi-chapter fic! Thanks for sticking with me.

 

Raoul woke in the middle of the night, and leant back to scowl at his sleeping lover’s face.

Quietly, he got out of bed, and padded across to the washroom.

As he threw one last glare at Erik before shutting the door, he could have sworn he saw the older man’s lips twitch up in a grin.

When Raoul slipped back into bed, Erik cracked one eye open, a smug look on his face.

Raoul snuggled down under the covers, curling up against his lover.

Erik opened his eyes fully, and put his fingers under Raoul’s chin, tilting his face up, and pressing their mouths together. He gently pried Raoul’s lips apart, pushing his tongue into his mouth.

Raoul enjoyed the kiss for a few long moments, before pushing Erik back.

“I didn’t shave it off because you asked me to.”

He thumped his fist against Erik’s chest, pouting sulkily.

Erik smirked.

“I know.” He pulled Raoul in for another kiss.

Again, Raoul pushed him back.

“I did it because I _wanted_ to shave.”

“I know.” Erik said again, his smile growing.

“I mean it. It wasn’t anything to do with you. It was _my_ choice.”

“ _I know_.” Erik whispered.

This time, Raoul let Erik kiss him.

 

 


End file.
